


TV Glow

by Project_Icarus



Series: Devil May Cry Oneshots & PWP [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 18:31:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19707067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project_Icarus/pseuds/Project_Icarus
Summary: The main room downstairs is lit by the flickering light of the TV in the corner, and she pauses. Dante is resting on the couch, watching a car chase with the volume down low. Or, he was. Now he’s looking straight at her as she stands there in nothing but a t-shirt and her panties.





	TV Glow

She can’t sleep. She’s kicked the covers off but it’s still too hot and she must have turned over ten times. The mattress is a piece of shit and she can’t get comfy with the lumps and springs poking her back. The ceiling above is distant and unfamiliar. She sighs. Her mouth is dry.

The bed squeaks as she sits up and it groans when she climbs out of it, stifling a yawn and rubbing her eyes. She pads from the room, the floorboards cold as they stick to her sweaty feet, and she takes the stairs with careful toes. She doesn’t want the wood to creak in the otherwise quiet of the night.

The main room downstairs is lit by the flickering light of the TV in the corner, and she pauses. Dante is resting on the couch, watching a car chase with the volume down low. Or, he was. Now he’s looking straight at her as she stands there in nothing but a t-shirt and her panties.

**I’m just getting a drink** , she should say, but she’s silent. She walks towards him, drawn in by the melancholy gleam of his eyes in the TV glow. He watches her approach him, unmoving as marble. If either of them speaks the spell might break.

He moves like he’s going to sit up, but she holds up a hand and he stills, trapped in the same quiet moment with her. She’s right before him now, tingling all over, her chest thundering, and she grips the hem of her t-shirt in both hands and pulls it up over her head. She drops it onto the floor. Bites her lip. His eyes hunger.

She sinks one of her knees into the worn couch, swinging her other leg over him and sits in his lap. He doesn’t move, but his nostrils flare as if he’s scenting her. His face is set in a frown and she leans into him so she can’t see it, tucks her face into the crook of his neck and runs her teeth along his throat. He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and a breath shudders out of him.

“What are you doing?” His voice is rough, more of a growl than a whisper.

She trails open-mouthed kisses where her teeth have been. “I don’t know.” She exhales, her breath hot in his ear.

His hand is big and warm as he rests it on her back, making her jump. He soothes her by rubbing circles into her skin, and with the other hand he curls a finger under her chin, nudging her to bring her head up and look at him. If he turns her down now, she’ll cry. But he doesn’t. He uses his grip on her chin to align their faces and sucks her into a desperate kiss. He presses his lips hard against hers, his tongue following in an insistent swipe across the seam of her mouth. She yields to the storm of him, boneless astride him, and moves her mouth with his—keeping up with his motions but completely at his mercy.

His kisses are hot and wet, and they ignite a stab of pleasure in her gut, a similar wet heat between her legs. He slides his hands beneath her panties and grabs handfuls of her ass, kneading the flesh with little finesse and making her gasp into his mouth. He chases it with his tongue, kissing her again until she’s breathless. His searching fingers reach deeper, and he groans deep in his throat when he finds her slick and warm just from kissing.

They come apart panting, and she’s coming apart at the seams. “I want…” _Everything._ Now seems like the wrong time to become shy, but the words just won’t come. The cat has her tongue, or at least, the devil does.

“What is it, baby?” He makes his hands gentle, leaving the wet slit of her alone and smoothing over her ass and hips instead. “Anything you want.”

“Take me upstairs,” she whispers. It’s not as dirty as she wants to be, but her courage fails her.

“Hold on to me,” he murmurs into her ear, and she shivers.

She loops her arms about his neck and then squeaks and wraps her legs around his waist as he stands up from the couch, holding her up with his hands on her butt. His kiss finds her again, licking into her mouth like she tastes like buttercream frosting, all the while remaining steady on his feet. The stairs are no obstacle for him either, and he kicks his bedroom door in, causing it to fly open and bang against the wall. They ignore the noise, and he lowers her onto his bed and unravels himself from her.

She’s so turned on she could cry, and she lays there amongst his messy sheets, her skin raised in goosebumps and her nipples tight and hard. He stands at the foot of the bed, his predatory gaze unwavering as he shucks off his coat. His fingers are nimble as they unbutton his shirt, revealing more of his chiselled chest with each button popped. He’s more gorgeous than anyone else in the world, and it’s his fierce interest in her body that makes her brave enough to let her legs fall open before him.

He grins, unbuckling his belt and drawing it through his beltloops. The buckle chimes as he throws it to the ground. She fists her hands in the sheets as he undoes his fly, desperate to see where the V of his hips leads. He lets his pants fall to the floor and steps out of them, left only in his black boxer-briefs.

“Looks like we’re even.” Is it all the kissing that’s raked his voice over hot coals?

She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and tugs them down her legs, dropping them off the side of the bed. “No, we aren’t.”

He sucks in a breath as her knees fall apart again, and he yanks his underwear down, kicking them off and crawling onto the bed with her. His cock hangs between his legs, long and thick, and as soon as he is within reach she wraps her hand around it, rubbing up and down to the rhythm of her heartbeat. He’s hard in her palm, and so hot.

She squeezes harder, and he groans, watching her hand move on him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He chuckles, the sound warm and sweet as honey, and pushes her hand away.

“God, there’s so many things I want to do with you.” His gaze is scalding as he stares into her.

“Like what?” She accepts the kiss he offers as he moves his body over hers. He can do whatever the hell he wants if he kisses her like this afterwards.

“I’ll tell you later.” There’s a smile on his lips as he lies beside her, and it grows wolfish when his hand finds her pussy wet and wanting, and he rubs her clit with the pad of his middle finger.

She moans and closes her eyes, rolling her hips into his hand. The speed is perfect and he’s right on target, and she clutches his arm tight, marvelling at the steel strength beneath her fingernails. He kisses her temple, slides his fingers lower and sinks two into her up to the knuckle. She barks out a moan, taken aback by how close to the edge she is.

“Fuck.” Her hair sticks to her forehead and she pants. “Fuck me.”

He grunts and buries his face in her hair. “Turn over, face the wall.”

She does her best, her limbs clumsy and disobedient, but she ends up on her side as commanded, her ass snug against his dick. He sucks on her neck as he positions her how he likes, lifting her leg with his hand under her knee. Then his cock is pressing into her, stretching her open for him. She cries out. He snaps his hips forward, forcing his cock all the way in.

“Shit. Sorry, sorry,” he whispers, kissing the back of her head.

“Don’t be.” The last thing she wants is for him to be cautious, even if his ardour stings.

He cants his hips again, more controlled now, his thrusts measured as he pumps into her. “You’re as tight as a fucking coke bottle.”

She moans at that, and at the impossible fullness he creates within her. She bounces along with the force of him, wanting him deeper still. “Is it good?”

“It’s fucking amazing.”

“Oh god.” She reaches down and plays with her clit. It’s too much. She can’t help it.

“Holy shit, you’re coming, aren’t you? I can feel it.”

She sucks in a breath and holds it, tightening her pelvis, the fingers stroking herself moving fast enough to make her wrist ache, and he fucks her closer and closer to the edge of her sound mind. His breath in her ear, his solid chest behind her, the strength in his hips as he surges into her, the knowledge that it’s him, it’s Dante doing this to her, fuck. She can’t contain the shout that bursts from her chest, and she squeezes her eyes shut and _comes._

He lets go of her leg, grabbing her hips with both hands and pulling her backwards onto his cock over and over and over again, fucking her harder now that she’s lost in the waves of her own afterglow.

“Fuck. I’m not gonna last.” He’s panting heavier now, ragged breaths on the back of her neck.

“Come on.” She stretches behind her and clutches a handful of his shaggy hair. “Come inside me.”

There’s something primal about the noise he makes as he comes. He stifles the roar by burying his face into her neck and sucking hard on her jugular. His grip is bruising on her hips but just as her eyes start to water he releases her. She’s been holding her breath again, and she lets it go as he pulls out of her. They lie side by side on the bed, their chests heaving.

She giggles. Can’t stop, euphoria spreading through her like warm butter.

“What?” He turns his head to see her, raising an eyebrow.

She stretches out like a happy cat. “That was awesome.”

He grins. “Yeah it was. Glad I’ve impressed.”

She turns to him and he lifts an arm for her to wiggle under. She moulds herself to his chest, his heart pounding away beneath her ear, only now beginning to slow. “Oh, I am definitely impressed.”

“I didn’t hurt you?”

“Only a little bit. I hardly noticed.” The endorphins have calmed themselves, and a deep burn is making itself known between her thighs. She’s never felt this well-fucked and she loves it.

“Good.” He kisses the top of her head, his fingertips trailing feather-light across her back.

They fall silent. Moments later they are both asleep.

She opens her eyes. She’s in Dante’s room and she’s not alone. In bed beside her lies the legendary devil hunter himself, snoring softly and not even a little bit covered by the blankets.

She sits up and clutches the covers around her, eyes wide. Did she really strip off in front of him as he watched TV last night? Her cheeks burn. There’ll be no living with him after this.

She wraps herself in a sheet and gets up, tiptoeing from the room and shutting the door behind her. What now? Will he want to go back to the way things were before? She can’t. Maybe he’ll want to do it again. She swallows.

She goes back into her room to sort through her clothes, and then locks herself in the bathroom and starts up the shower. The water never quite gets past lukewarm, but it rinses away last night’s sins all the same. She washes her hair with that nondescript all-in-one stuff that most men seem to use.

When she’s clean and dressed, she wipes the steamed-up mirror over the sink so she can see herself. There’s a dark purple bruise on the left side of her neck, right over her jugular. Her hand flies to cover it, as though her reflection is about to scold her. Her heartbeat quickens as her fingers trace the place where Dante’s lips and tongue and teeth have been. She takes a deep breath. Maybe she should find a shirt with a collar.

She gathers her things and unlocks the door, stepping into the hallway.

Dante’s door opens, and he emerges half dressed, his shirt and pants undone and his hair a mess. She blinks at him. He halts in the doorway, watching her.

“Good morning.” She cringes at the sound of her voice. So much for acting natural.

He raises an eyebrow, smirks at her. He’s as devilishly handsome as ever. “Good morning.”

She shrinks into the wall as he strides towards her, his bare feet making no sound on the old floorboards. He brushes her hair aside and she holds her breath, his slightest touch making her shiver with remembered delight. His eyes fix on her throat. His hand comes to rest on her shoulder, his thumb grazing over the sore mark left by his mouth.

“How are you doing?” His voice is a low rumble from his chest.

“I’m fine.” Her voice is like the squeak of a mouse who is not fine at all.

His gaze lands on her lips for a moment, before flicking up to meet her eyes. She can’t think. He leans in close.

The phone rings downstairs, shrill and persistent.

He straightens, his hand falling away from her shoulder. “I better get that.”

She nods.

He pads across the hall and out of sight, thundering down the stairs. She remains where she is, pinned to the wall like a butterfly. The phone stops ringing and Dante’s muffled voice takes its place.

She’s about to hide in her room when he calls her name, and she scurries to the top of the stairs to see what he wants.

“It’s Nico,” he says. “She needs our help.”

“Right!” She nods. “Just let me change my shirt!”


End file.
